The Sins of Memory
by wordsareuseless
Summary: Winning Harry back takes more than a trip down a memory lane. Times have changed and people forget. What will Draco do to make Harry remember him again?
1. Chapter 1: Remembering

**Rating: **T

**Era: **Post war, with flashbacks every now and then

**Characters: **Draco, Harry, Draco/Harry

**Genre: **Angst, Drama, Romance, (Implied) slash

**The Sins of Memory**

_Chapter 01: Remembering_

Was it love? The feeling of wanting to die beside him was clearly exaggerated. He had been with him only a year. Was it simply hysteria? He had this mad feeling of wanting him forever. Could it be both? Love after all is but a moment of suspended hysteria – an obsession of sort.

Was it love or hysteria? He had no idea. Draco felt distressed of the idea of not knowing. Yet he is at a plane going to London to go back to the man that confounded him. _We can never know what we want_, he assured himself. We only have one life to live and we deal with things as they come. We only have one life and we decide on it when it comes. We cannot know which decision is better because we have no basis for comparison. One life. One moment at a time.

He looked at the plane window. He can see the lights from the tall buildings ofLondon. They are now landing. Draco never felt this unsure his whole life. He was aware of his inaptitude for love yet felt the self-deluding need to stimulate it. Here he is, riding a muggle transportation to see Harry again. His Harry. Harry introduced him to the wonders of muggle transportation. They may be slower and crowded, sometimes inefficient and prone to go kaput, but that's exactly what he needed now. He wished that somehow something would go wrong and that they wouldn't land on London just yet. He was stalling, or rather wishing for a haul. There are perks too to muggle transportation. They force you to sit down in quiet and think. That's exactly what he is doing right now – thinking.

He arrived in London, a bag dangling from his shoulder. He had an address book under his arm. He seemed worried and lost. _He is lost_. There he was in his own country, but he was in a foreign city to find for the man he loved truly. The man he pushed away back then, the man he couldn't admit to love. There he was, standing, afraid. He had feared that if he sees him again he might offer him his life.

How had he come to the decision when for nearly a fortnight that he wavered so much to the point that he couldn't even call him to ask how he is. Draco was surprised. He had acted against his principles as a Malfoy. Three years earlier he had abandoned his partner. From what he understood he felt like he is never meant to love, or live with anyone side by side. He is the eternal bachelor – good looking, well-off, educated and charming. He can have any one he want at any given time. He tried to design his life in such a way that no one can stay in his life permanently.

Until one morning when he woke up with his classmate he fornicated with the night before. He was holding his hand firmly as he slept; he wanted to jump out of bed. Never has he felt a grip so tight in his life. And while his classmate breathed the deep breath of sleep and held his hand, he found comfort. Draco did not realize at that time that beauty is dangerous. The beautiful are not meant to be trifled with. One beautiful night can give birth to love. One night with Harry, borne out of a mistake, laden with teenage hormones and youthful curiosity gave birth to love.

He fell in love, so soon and so unceremoniously. The very thought of it exhausted him. Love at first sight – he was repulsed of the idea of loving someone deeply without knowing deeper. He had never felt such love in his life. He was used to habitual love. Love borne from the basis of familiarity and kinship.

From that time on they both looked forward to sleeping together. Draco was even so sure that the act of lovemaking is only a prelude to act of sleeping together. More than the copious rendezvous he and Harry endeavor, he desired the act of sleeping together - skin on skin, warm flesh intimately bound by the desire of togetherness. It was bliss. Peaceful and wonderful. But even this cannot keep them together.

Draco went from being in love to being afraid. Afraid that the man would get closer to him; afraid of the intimacy their lovemaking stipulated. He grew cowardly of the thought of being bound by a monogamous love. That is not him. He is Draco Malfoy, the eternal bachelor.

One night, while his lover was in slumber, Draco fled and decided never to return.

He left the one he loved the most.


	2. Chapter 2: The Allusion

**_Chapter 02:_**

**_The Allusion_**

Draco hurriedly apparated to 12 Grimmauld Place as soon as the airplane landed. His temples throbbed violently – whether it was jetlag, or uncertainty, he doesn't know.

A knock. No answer. Another knock. Still, no answer. Draco sighed. He attempted to knock again but before he can, the door opened. A house-elf stood before him, and respectfully bowed his head. Kreacher, the Black family's house-elf recognized him.

"Master Draco! Kreacher is happy to see you! Let me take your luggage and help yourself in."

"Yes. Of course. Kreacher is your master here?" Draco inquired.

Which master are you looking for, Master Draco?" Kreacher asked.

"I'm looking for Harry, of course. Wait, is there another master? Who is it?"

"He's not here at the moment, Master Draco, sir. But Master… Master Birch is here. I shall call him at once and inform you're here."

Master Birch. Who on earth is Master Birch? Why does he live with Harry? And why would Kreacher, Harry's house-elf refer to him as Master. Unless…

"Kreacher…" Draco blurted out. He was meaning to ask more questions but before he could even ask Kreacher already took off. Draco felt helpless then. It was all wrong – the idea that he could waltz in back into Harry's life is but an allusion. But he's here for one thing alone, and that is to make amends.

Careful now, he told himself. He is happy now; there is no need to rattle his current state.

"I didn't know we had a guest! I am Rastaban Birch, nice to meet you." The man greeted as he was approaching Draco, offering a warm handshake. Rastaban Birch is a tall man, lean and well-groomed. His dark, luscious hair carefully cascades down to his shoulder. His nose sharp and skin porcelain.

"May I know who you are? I didn't expect anyone to pass through the wards Harry put in. But it seems like the house recognizes you. Are you his friend?"

"No name. I'm just an old friend. I have to go. And there is no need to tell him I passed by. "

Draco started to walk away. He can hear Rastaban calling for him yet he did not heed. All he wanted was go as far away as possible, to find a good place to hide. For the first time in his life Draco wept. His tears ran down as swift as monsoon rain. It was a silent crying. He let his tears fall as he kept on walking away. He knew this could happen but he never expected it. Somehow, at the back of his mind, he was assured that Harry would lovingly wait for him.

He told himself: their acquaintance had been based on error from the start. In spite of their love, Draco managed to make Harry's life a hell. He couldn't be tamed. He is a bachelor, despite being with Harry, he managed to play around.

Harry, of course, knew all of his infidelities but held on to him. Because they loved each other. The fact that they loved each other was merely a proof that the fault lay not in themselves, but rather in their incompatibility. Draco is a free soul, a moving organ that is not meant for domestication, whilst Harry entertained the idea of constancy and a quiet home life.

He thought he was strong and Harry was weak. Harry was weak because he let Draco fool around with different men, because he waited for his love every night despite the knowledge of his adulterous rendezvous. And he, Draco, is strong. He can do anything he wanted because he was assured of the fact that Harry would never leave him.

The tables has turned, it seems like it. The weak has left the strong. The weak overcame the strong. The weak were strong enough to finally move on and the strong now realizes how weak he was for leaving.

It was weakness that made him abandon Harry. He convinced himself that going back to win Harry's affection again is also a weakness. The lyrical illusion of happily ever after instantly faded away. There was nothing to do. Not anymore. Harry is with Rastaban Birch. He has moved on. He was defeated.

"Harry there was a man looking for you this afternoon."

"Who was he?" Harry asked innocently.

"He didn't tell his name. He just ran away when I told him you're not here. He seems to know you. And Kreacher knows him too, I assume. He didn't seem to have any trouble breaching your wards." Rastaban explained how this man looked like as he was sitting beside his partner.

"Blond, pale, and handsome you say?" Harry probed. There were only few blonds he knew – Xenophilius Lovegood, a couple of classmates he had from Hogwarts, some fellow Aurors and Ministy colleagues, and that's it. As far as he knew, Harry had no blond friends close enough with him to breach his wards.

"You know, love, maybe it was an old man and you thought white hair was blond." Harry joked as he put his head on Rastaban's shoulder.

"Indeed. I might be going blind. But that blond man left his luggage here as well. He was in a hurry to go away, peculiar really, and left."

"He left his luggage here? Why did you keep it? For all we know it may be cursed or something! Kreacher, please come here!"

"Oh please. It was hardly even cursed. I checked it myself, and so did Kreacher. Besides, if it were from anyone you didn't know he wouldn't be able to step in your lawn. Relax ."

Kreacher appeared before the couple and gestured respect towards his Masters.

"What would Master Harry want from me?" Kreacher asked.

"Do you know him? That man who came here?"

"Of course. Kreacher knows him. He is the son of Lady Narcissa. Draco Malfoy, sir, that's his name."

Draco Malfoy? He knew of Narcissa and her husband Lucius. But neither of them are welcome at his home. He may owe them a lot for their last-minute deflection against Voldemort but they were never really congenial. And he didn't know they had a son. Draco Malfoy. He lingered on the name, trying to think if he has met him. When he tried to linger deeper, his head hurt.

"OhHarry what's happening? Does your scar hurt? Is he… is he back?"

"No, silly. It just… it just started hurting." Harry explained and went back to talking to Kreacher.

"This Draco, do I know him?"

Kreacher stared at him for a moment and started to bang his head to the nearest wall. "Bad Kreacher…. breaking my master's order… bad Kreacher… should not mention… bad Kreacher…"

"Harry stop him! Why is he acting like that all of a sudden?" Rabastan yelped.

"Kreacher, stop." Harry said firmly. "You didn't disobey me. Now, tell me what the deal is about this Draco."

"Master said never to talk about him… Kreacher took a vow not to speak of him with you in any circumstances. Kreacher cannot disobey or else Master would free him…" Kreacher said, still banging his head on the wall.

"Stop that, Kreacher! Go to the kitchen then and prepare our supper." Harry commanded.

"Before I forget, the man dropped this brochure. It's from a hotel so I'm guessing he might be staying there. You know Harry, it seems like he wants to talk about something very important. You should go to him tomorrow."

"Nah." Harry responded.

"Why not? He might have important business to discuss with you. He is, after all, very rich looking. And aren't you curious to know who he really is? I mean, after how Kreacher reacted. It seems logical."

"If he had, he would have stayed. But he didn't."

"I insist you go tomorrow."

"Fine. I'll go that hotel after work. Hmmm. Come to think of it, Hermione and Ron might know who this man is. You go ahead in the dining hall, I'll just floo them a letter."


	3. Chapter 3: Forgotten, Buried, and Hidden

03

**Forgotten, Buried, and Hidden**

Hermione Granger received two letters that night – one came via the floo network and the other one via an owl. The first letter was from Harry, asking if she could have lunch with him and to help him recognize an unknown house guest. The second letter was from Draco Malfoy asking, too, if she wants to have lunch with him. Hermione trembled, a million unfortunate scenarios ran through her head, without losing her cool she wrote Harry a letter first.

_Harry,_

_I can't make it to lunch tomorrow. I have another important meeting of paramount importance. I'll have dinner with you, if you want._

_HJG_

Hermione decided to meet with Draco in a muggle bistro over lunch. She was nervous, very nervous. She never thought Draco would come back amd she reckon he needed some explanations more than Harry. Not that he deserves it, after all, he left Harry and his leaving led them to this untoward situation.

Draco arrived earlier and seated near the window, his chin supported by his left hands. He looked rather anxious and uneasy, what could Hermione tell her? In her letter she seemed hesitant meeting him, they were not the closest of friends but she was still willing to meet him. Hermione is an upstanding woman and would not hide the truth from him. If anyone would know why Harry's forgotten about him, it would be her.

The steam from the cup of his coffee dances upward, enveloping his senses with the aroma. He wondered how it came to this. Surely he let Harry down, and in the process he let himself down as well. He continued to stare at the steam as it continues to evaporate.

Hermione arrived a little later and sat in front of him. She hasn't changed at all. Her hair is still bushy and brown, and she still possess the air of knowing and sureness. She put her bag beside her and started talking. "Draco, where have you been? Have you met Harry?" She sounded genuinely worried.

"America. Went soul searching there." He prompted. "Harry. I haven't met him. I've been meaning to, but he seems rather occupied at the moment." Draco said bitterly.

Hermione looked like she pity Draco. "Well. Rabastan is a good man. He was there with Harry, you know, when you…"

"Left. Could you arrange something? Hermione, I need to talk to him. I swear I'll be no reason for anything troublesome. I just need to… tell him what went on." Draco looked down on his coffee. Nothing is more bitter than how he feels now, not even the black coffee he is drinking.

"Well. We might have a problem here, Draco. Harry… he doesn't remember you. _At all_."

Draco almost dropped the coffee mug. His body shook in his seat and looked at Hermione in disbelief. Harry doesn't remember him? His face tensed and his head heart. He is agape and stared at Hermione in disbelief. His cold grey eyes yearned for more answers but no sound came from him. Discombobulated and incoherent words formed inside his head. "He… don't remember me?"

"Draco, I need you to try and understand. We only did it for him. None of us knew you'd ever come back. We thought you were gone for good. And Harry, he was so heartbroken when you left. He could've died of a broken heart!"

"He couldn't… nobody dies of a broken heart." Draco composed himself and delivered calmly.

"Elephants." Hermione murmured. "Elephants? I don't follow, Hermione." Draco asked, more confused than ever.

"Elephants die of a broken heart. When their partner dies or leaves elephants starve themselves to death, refusing any outside help. Elephants die of a broken heart because they give so much of themselves to others. They've got a big heart – literally and figuratively. An elephant dedicates its life fostering and nurturing. They spend a lot of time looking for another in which they can offer their hearts to. And when they do, they give all, they don't hold back. When the love of their life leaves their reason for living dies with their love. Unfortunate really, but eerily romantic."

"Is he… an elephant?"

"His heart is. Harry is fragile. Funny isn't it? Hero of the wiazarding world, with heart of porcelain. When you left he refused to live. He stayed in his room and refused to eat at all. He closed himself in and gave up entirely on life. He loved you too much and his life revolved around you. He couldn't cope, he just… lost the will to live."

"Is that why you had me erased from his memory?" Draco posed. His fists clenched tightly and his heart quivering more.

"It was Ron's idea but I did the spell. We only intended it for a few days, just so he can recover."

"Why then can't he remember me? It has been more than a year!"

Hermione looked down, feeling guilty. "Draco, I know you are upset. But we can do anything. I tried lifting the spell, multiple times it's just that something is blocking my magic. A much stronger magic. I really can't lift it, neither anyone we know. We just decided to let it be. It's only you he can't recall. My theory is that his mind built a wall and closed his memories of you in. Something like an intended amnesia. It is probably his mind's way of coping and protecting him. But I know it is there, his memories of you. There are days when his head hurts so bad when he sees or hears something related to you - like that time when I wore a scarf you gave me."

Draco was silent. He couldn't say anything in his defense. What they did was wrong, but not as unforgivable as what he put Harry through. The unconscious cannot distinguish right from wrong, good or bad; it would protect its owner even if it had to bury memories. Who are we to condemn forgetting, especially when forgetting is the thing that needs to be done. There is nothing good to remember about him anyway, not in Harry's head at least. There was a pang in his heart. Harry has forgotten. He never existed in Harry's life.

Draco wished to be saved. Draco wanted to be remembered.


	4. Chapter 4: Cracking the Wall

04

**Cracking the Wall**

Sitting crushed in the hotel lobby with thoughts of improbability, Harry kept wondering who this man is. Instead of going to the desk officer and ask for the name Draco Malfoy, he just sought the thought of patiently waiting for him. It was unsure, yes, but at the same time it was comforting. After an hour he can just leave the hotel and go back home to Rastaban. It was routine but he found routines comforting. And this, this waiting for a person who might as well be not here is tormenting.

An hour has passed and no blond man came in the hotel. He decided to grab a drink instead to the nearest pub before going home. While going to the bar he saw a blond man walking and looking besotted. The man stumbled and fell on the street and brought out his wand, as if attempting to do magic. Harry immediately went running towards the man, not only he was worried he was also concerned that this wizard might risk being seen my muggles. He held out his hand to try to help the man. The man just stared at him, as if they knew each other from a long time ago. The man gawked at his emerald green eyes, wanting to be saved by him. Harry reached out and held this man's hand. A touch was all it needed for Harry's wall to crack. Suddenly, a thousand different sensations flooded his body. Suddenly he found himself wrapped up in plush, words unspoken heard through an unheard medium translate back into subtle movements, inching towards a mutual nearness.

Harry was urged by something inside his sternum to touch the man, now sobbing, and comfort him. A sudden connection is established between them as if yearning to be explored. His heart fluttered in exaltation but his head ached too much. How is it possible to feel close to somebody you haven't even met? Strangers meeting for the first time is serendipitous. Harry is not one who believes in destiny or clings to fate. But this assemblage with this unknown man makes him want to contradict himself; he knew at that moment that it was destined for him to meet this man.

He took the man to Leaky Cauldron and asked for a room where he can stay. He didn't know the man but he felt like he had to do this, like he owed this man a debt that needed to be paid. He assisted the swerving man into his bed and he nibbled his lower lips, lips that covet the other man's lips. He held back knowing that it wasn't the right thing to do. The man. heavy and heaving of alcohol pulled him in closer. Instantaneous feelings of pain and pleasure surged inside of Harry.

With a certain sensitivity to the gentle patter atop sternums, their hands discovered each other meeting jointly; a touch so familiar and so sensitive, akin to Harry's very existence. Their hands intertwined and their lips touching, their passions devoured all their attentions, rightly taking priority over everything else.

They lingered, until Harry cannot bear the pain in his head anymore. Something inside his head wanted to break free, kicking his cranium and splitting his brain into half, a pain worst than when Voldemort was near him. He pushed the other man back and looked at him in disbelief. The man was blushing and tearing up at the same time, Harry wasn't sure it was just the alcohol anymore that compelled the man to do this. And he felt so much guilt for trying to take advantage over a drunk man and cheating on his partner. He pulled away even further and hurried to get out of the door and out of the Leaky Cauldron so he could apparate home.

* * *

><p>Harry immediately went to bed and refused to talk or even look at Rastaban. Guilt hovered over him, engulfing all his good sensibilities. That night he dreamt vividly. In his dreams he was taken back into the time when he, Ron, Hermione were at the Room of Requirements, facing two Hogwarts classmates Crabbe and Goyle, and then there was another man whose face he cannot see.<p>

The dream went on like it went on in real life – the fiendfyre, the destruction of the diadem, the room engulfed in a magical fire, he on a broomstick. Only something else happened in this dream, he was reaching out and saving a man. The moment their hands touched, he awoke. Panting and sweating he sat up and reached for his glasses. He wondered if what he saw was a dream or a memory. It was too vivid to be a dream, but too unreal to be a memory. He stirred and it awoken Rastaban who was sleeping beside him. "Bad dream?" Rastaban prompted. He nodded and directed the man to go back to slumber whilst he went down for a glass of water.

Rastaban remained lying down when Harry went to the kitchen. This isn't the first time Harry had nightmares, but this was certainly the worst. He was screaming a name. Draco. He heard Harry scream the words "Draco, take my hand!" and at that moment he figured out – the reason why Harry can't look at him that night and won't even touch him. The man who was here must have been that man he dreamt of tonight. He pretended to be asleep as Harry went back to his side of the bed. He heard Harry murmur, "I need to see him again." Rastaban stayed awake that whole night, his heart unsure where it stands.

* * *

><p>Draco opened his heavy eyes and found himself at an unfamiliar bed. There was a chipped wooden white-painted window near the bed that permitted a tiny ray of sunshine to fill the room. His heart sank in desperation as he tried to remember what happened last night. He stood up and went out of the room and immediately he recalled that he was in Leaky Cauldron. He went down to the first floor to pay his bill for staying in that night and to prompt the landlady who brought him there.<p>

"Harry Potter." said the landlady. Draco's jaw dropped and immediately composed himself so that he could leave. Could it be? What transpired last night, he remembered a kiss and emerald green pair of eyes. It wasn't a dream on his part. He and Harry kissed, but how? Does Harry remember him now? He pushed off optimism and tried to remain level-headed. "Unlikely." he said loudly.

Harry cannot remember him. It was just a kiss , he just lost self-control because he was drunk and could've kissed anybody. He went to his hotel and just when he was about to go to his room the receptionist called him. "Mr. Malfoy, a gentleman left this not for you." He took the note, thanked the receptionist and went to his room.

He opened the letter, it read:

_Hello,_

_You probably don't recall me. Something happened last night and I was wondering if you are willing to see me tonight at Wands and Brooms Restaurant for dinner. I have questions to ask, and I assume you have questions yourself. No need to reply. I'll be there at 7:00 pm._

_Harry James Potter_

_Auror, British Ministry of Magic _

It was Harry. From his letter Draco figured out that he doesn't recall him. Perhaps Harry sought him to clear some things out, after all Harry is in a relationship and maybe he was just trying to save his relationship. "Typical Harry, trying to make things right." Draco wanted to refuse the offer, but this might be his last chance to see Harry again. He resolved that he will go and meet Harry tonight. Who is he to say no to him anyway?


	5. Chapter 5: Words Unsaid

A/N: Sorry for the delay. I originally intended to post at least once a week but I was hospitalized for more than week. So there. Transitional chapter.

05

**Words Unsaid**

Draco arrived earlier at the restaurant. There is so much he wanted to say to Harry, if only Harry knew him, everything would be at least easier. But the situation is different, Harry remembers nothing of him, except that kiss they shared last night. A kiss they barely shared, he thought.

Sitting crushed in the corner booth of the restaurant with thoughts of improbability, Draco kept wondering if Harry would arrive.

"Hello there." Said a voice. "You remember… me?"

"Oh. Of course."

It was Harry. He wiggled his eyebrows and gestured the other man to seat. Harry took a seat on the opposite end of the table.

"I never got to ask your name."

"Draco. Draco Malfoy."

"Uhm, about last night." Harry began talking but Draco cut him with a wave of his hand.

He didn't want to talk about it. He refused to talk about it. At the back of his head he knew that it would buy time to refuse giving Harry closure about this issue they had. And time was all Draco needed to make Harry remember. He decided that he would make Harry remember again.

"It was nothing. Not that I didn't want it anyway." Draco said, now smiling.

"It was a mistake. I'm in a relationship." Harry sharply said. Truly, he wanted this over with. He is overrun by guilt. Harry never cheats, and when he does he'll make things right. This is who he is – his morals and values always set, always in black and white. Doing the right thing is the only thing to do.

"Oh." Draco replied. That is it, then? Will he let his heart die without him knowing, believing he's just one man whom he made a mistake with? Would he let his love suffer in vain without even fighting for a chance for it to be rewritten in reality? Will he let it be gone with time, lost and blinded by only a memory he can go back to? Will he kill his heart?

Never. If for anything, Draco is a persistent man. A Malfoy never loses a game. But this is more than a game. Love is not a losing game, not for Draco. He knew he had a chance to make Harry his again; last night's kiss was a proof. A kiss.

Draco abruptly kissed Harry despite the table separating them. His eyes were closed and Harry's mouth tasted like marzipan flowers and clove cigarettes, and in two seconds the whole of Draco's life was wrapped up in one kiss. One kiss, a wish. That one wish, that one secret desire that he and this moment last forever.

Of each erotic experience his memory recorded, this was by far one of the best. The fervent touching of the lips, the electrifying touch, the minor perversions he could make him acquiesce in and the ones he held out against. Every other thing, he pedantically removed from his memory. It was like the first time they kissed.

Harry just stayed there. Shocked at first at the man's hasty action in public where anyone could see them. But Harry didn't care. This kiss, much like last night is so familiar. He wanted more. It was not desire that propelled him to kiss Draco back, it was something more, something deeper, known, and akin to his memory. Memory. Harry's head started to hurt and pushed Draco away.

"I… I'm sorry." Draco said and arranged himself. Did he push it too far? "I… love you." He whispered, but loud enough for Harry to hear.

"What?" There was no tone of surprise in his voice. Somehow it seemed natural for him to hear those words from Draco. "Oh. My head hurts. I'm probably hearing things."

"No, you aren't. I love you. And you love me. You may not remember but your…" he pointed at Harry's chest. "It remembers. That's why you kissed me last night, and that's why kissed back just now. You may not remember me but it is true. We've always loved each other, Harry…" Draco never got a chance to finish his sentence. Harry stood up and walked away.

Love is a powerful word. You just don't say you love a person. Love builds and grows, but it also destroys and reverts. Harry didn't knew, that a person can, just with a kiss, damage one person beyond repair. Why did Draco say those words? He barely knew him, the thought of a stranger saying that is preposterous, absurd, and creepy. But somehow, he didn't find it appalling, like he always knew it. And his heart fluttered when he heard those. Rastaban had said he loved him but he never felt this lingering pleasantries inside his chest when he said them. Draco said them and immediately his heart leaped, a pleasant leap – a leap of joy, of stillness, and insanity.

He was walking away towards the door. He stopped, turned back and sat in front of Draco again.

"Look. I don't know who you are and why you said that you 'love' me. But I don't mistrust you. So… explain this… this theory of yours." Harry said, as if ordering Draco to do so.

"Why?" Draco asked. "It's pointless really. You won't remember anything anyway." Draco defensively said.

"I am trying to be objective. Recently I have been having dreams… or memories. I don't know. They seem real. Maybe you can help. And it seems like you know me. You breached my wards anyway, and no one except people close to me, breaches my wards." Harry stated as a matter of factly.

Draco pounced at the chance to explain everything to Harry. He knew very well that he would sound absolutely mental, but that's a risk he needed to take. Then he remembered what Hermione said about Harry's memories of him being walled. Would he, head on, try to break this barrier? "I can't tell you anything that would make you believe."

Harry's eyes started to widen and looked at him quizzically.

"You have to remember them yourself, Harry."

"This is a mistake. You. That… those kisses. This dinner. By the way your luggage are still at Grimmauld. Get them as soon as you can." He started to walk out. Angry, frustrated, confused. As if a brick just fell from the sky and crashed on his head. This headache is getting worse. Suddenly, flashes of memory seeped in. The Room of Requirement again. That man he was saving now had a face – Draco's face. And then another one. 7th year post-Voldemort defeat, at the corridor he was kissing someone – Draco. More memories came rushing in. The headache to unbearable and too much. Harry collapsed.

Draco panicked and ran where Harry fell. He apparated them at his hotel suite.


	6. Chapter 6: Transience

06

**Transience**

One must not forget who he is; what he was and what he's become. There is a fine line between losing oneself and burying the past. You just don't simply forget, you learn to live with pain. The mind, like a spider web, with all its memories, attributions, and thoughts are fragile. Its thinness, barely supported by its belief of self-importance is supremacy easily crumbles to pain. See how the mind breaks under the slightest lick of pain – watch how it twists, unravels, and evaporates.

Rejection and privilege, happiness and woe, life and death – no one knew more concretely than Harry how interchangeable opposites are, how short the step one pole of human existence to the other.

All it needed is a little push, a slight falling apart and a small crack on the wall. And once this is done, the whole wall is sure to fall. The wall may be high but not impossible to bring down. The time it takes to fall down, though, takes longer than expected. After all, a wall so high wouldn't just allow itself to fall easily. In here, the transit is most beautiful.

The idea of transit implies a perspective from which things appear other than as we know them; they appear without the mitigating circumstance of their transitory nature. The mitigating circumstance prevents us from making a verdict, after all, how can we condemn something in transit, something ephemeral? How can we say that crumbling wall is not beautiful? How can we say that a wall being built is splendid? Only when it is done. In the abattoir of dissolution, everything is illuminated by the aura of hope and nostalgia – of how it appeared and how it once appeared.

Memory is such a precarious being. Not so long ago, Harry experienced the same kind of transit when Draco came into his life. The reconciliation of their past revealed the apparent perversity of the world – enemies falling in love, not giving a damn about the rest of the world, the stuff only seen in fairy tales. The world rests essentially on the notion of non-return, the past does not matter. The present is what matters; we may be more of our past but we are never living in it, we always live in the present. At that moment Harry fell in love with Draco, he realized that there is no turning back. He cannot unlove him.

"Harry. Harry. Please wake up. Do you want me to take you to St. Mungo's?"

Harry remembered his conversation with Hermione before they obliviated him. "Don't hoard the past, Harry. Don't cherish anything. Burn it. Be like the phoenix who burns to emerge."

The past hurts. And he needed to move on.

"Harry. Harry. Please… This is me, Draco. Please open your eyes." Draco pleaded.

Harry opened his eyes. "Draco? Are you… really back?"

"Yes. I'm here. I'm back. I'll never leave you again. Do you remember me now?"

Harry closed his eyes once again, as if trying to find the words inside. Tears started to form at the corner of his emerald eyes. "Yes." He remembered every word, every moment, every hurt. He basks at it, replaying it inside his head, wanting to recall every emotion. "Yes. Merlin forbid, I remember it all."

"Do you need anything? Water? Do you want to sit up? Food, perhaps? Anything, anything you want."

"Tell me."

"Tell you what?"

Harry took a deep breath and seated himself up. He clutched his hands firmly on the fine sheet of the bed. He moved his right hand and placed it on his heart, trying to feel his heartbeat. "Tell me why you left. Tell me why you couldn't love me. Tell me why you came back now. Tell me everything."

Draco sat beside Harry and tried to hug him but Harry refused. "Don't touch me. I won't let you touch me again, Draco. Just tell me. Tell me what I need to know."

"What do you want to know?" Draco stood up and sat on the chair across the bed. "Go ahead, ask me."

"Why did you leave?"

"I had to." The blond said sternly.

"Doesn't answer anything."

Draco gulped. This is it. Truth is what can bring Harry back to him. No matter the garish explanations, the lack of eloquence in his reason – it is the truth Harry wants and that is what he will give.

"I was afraid."

Harry gawked. That was his reason? Fear? Of what? Of him?

"I was afraid to fall. Vertigo, if you may. I was scared that if I let you close you might hurt me. It was all too fast. I was unprepared. To be committed solely to a person. One person. Merlin, I sound totally cowardly right now, don't I? Leaving you just because I was afraid."

Silence. There is nothing but the whirring of the world.

"You left because you find the idea of love repulsive. You pride yourself in knowing that you are free. You have no care for consequences or feelings. You're selfish and you couldn't bear the thought of giving a part of yourself." Harry replied. He now turned his back on Draco, trying to hide the tears that have now succumbed to gravity.

"I was wrong. I was afraid to give up my life. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"You don't destroy the people you love, Draco. And I didn't ask you to give up your life. I only wanted to be part of it. And that means compromising something."

Draco felt his chest heave with pain. Harry was right. He never demanded anything from him, if for anything Harry let him keep his version of freedom. "It was wrong to leave you. I should have known better."

Harry sighed and bit his lip before saying anything brash. "No. You were right. The best thing you did was leave me. I am not one of your affairs, I don't hold on to the end of your kite like a little boy. I am not a doormat that will always be there when you come home. You made me feel unloved and insignificant. The only thing that made me hold on to you is faith. Faith, Draco." Harry now faced Draco, not caring if tears fall endless from his eyes. "You left. That is all that matters. You left. You think you can waltz in back into my life? I took you for a cheater but never for a complacent asshole. You don't play with love, Draco. Love is not one of your games. "

Each word Harry said hurt. "I… I never wished for any of this. I had no choice." Draco stammered. He now seated firmly in his seat.

Harry stood up. "You had no choice?" he yelled. "There is a choice, Draco. There is always a choice! A moment when you can stay in love; a moment where you decide to change your ways and turn everything around. I was everything you ever hoped for, and what did you do? You trampled my heart! Every night I would wait for you and pretended everything was fine, like I didn't knew of your infidelities. I pretended not to smell other men when you go to bed beside. I wanted to throw up every time you go home smelling like sex, Draco. I pretended not to hear you were cavorting with someone else over the phone. It was hell for me, Draco! Hell! Everyday I found myself waiting…"

Harry couldn't finish the last sentence. "Waiting for what?" Draco bravely asked.

"Waiting for you to leave me. I knew you would. That doesn't make it hurt less. I was still crushed when you left."

Nothing seemed to move or rustle around them. Harry felt a punch in his stomach. He could have sworn he wanted this moment – to shout at Draco, for Draco to explain. People lose each other, it is a fact. But he never thought he would lose Draco that way. He needed something to hold on to, not to slip away. He hurt then, and he is hurting still. Deep inside he still loved Draco.

Finally, Draco spoke up. "I never stopped loving you. I was a monster. I could not sleep at night when I left you. I felt empty, aimless. Everyday I wanted to go back. But I couldn't. It took me all this time to muster my courage and try my luck. Harry, I never meant to hurt you. And I know that… that is how it is now. I just wanted to love you, but I didn't know how. But now I know. I am not that person anymore. Not anymore."

All Harry did was shake his head. Raw sobs are heard. His throat felt like there were two hands around it, squeezing tight, forcing water out of his eyes. Draco crept in closer and put his arms around him. Harry buried his face in Draco's chest and his tears and snot wet the front of Draco's shirt.

It felt good to be held by the one you love, even belatedly. Draco held him, he was solid. This time he wasn't drifting away. A simple touch, like a hug, is powerful. One can even argue that a hug provides the best safety in this planet. Two bodied intertwined, sharing warmth, making each other feel secured. It evokes sureness, transcends misunderstandings, and gives a person unbridled courage, as if he can take on everything.

Draco's tears fell, silent as a rain on a spring marsh, unheard by Harry. All Harry and Draco wanted was to linger at this moment. This transience. This ephemeral moment. One cannot judge the beauty that is the reunion of lovers.


	7. Chapter 7: The Calm

**_A/N: _**_Two chapters in a week. (Yay?) Thank you for still reading this! Will update within a week or two (or three.)_

07

**The Calm**

Draco and Harry stood like that for a few moments until Harry broke free. "I can't do this." This time Draco is the one holding on to Harry. Quite laughable, really, when you think about it. Not so long ago he couldn't even linger in the thought of holding Harry in his arms, and now he is. What took him so long to realize that he wanted this all along?

"Draco, let me go. I need to go home… to Rastaban." Upon hearing that name, Draco's arms immediately let go of Harry.

"Of course. You're still together… Of course." Draco tried to be understanding, really. But he couldn't quite comprehend why Harry would bring Rastaban up.

Attachment is a funny thing. The moment you leave a person is the moment you start craving more of him. Like an insatiable desire, a fire within never to be quelled. "Stay. Make love to me." Draco said.

"I… Tell me something first, Draco. Did you ever regret leaving me?" Harry asked. Now kissing Draco's neck.

Draco felt his stomachs churning. Would he reveal his weaknesses to Harry? White flag. An act of total surrender. At this moment all he wanted is Harry. "Regrets mean nothing and remorse is only for the weak." Draco answered. "I wished I didn't do it, but regret? I don't think it is possible to truly regret. I never regretted anything, but suffered the consequences nevertheless."

Harry stopped kissing Draco's neck. "You never… regretted?" He said, with a baffled tone in his voice.

"Not for a moment. I told you I had no choice… or rather I already made a choice even before it happened. I would have left you eventually, you know?"

"Oh." Harry could not quite figure out how he would feel about that. "Don't take it the wrong way." Draco immediately responded.

Draco continued "It was overwhelming. This… I love you. I don't know how or why it happened. But I love you. Near to you I feel wonderfully sick. I go crazy when I'm with you. The kind of crazy that is migraine inducing, nauseating. I wanted that. I want to be crazy-sick. I desire that feeling but refused to seek help."

Harry laughed. "You… you ran away because you were afraid of the calm?"

The calm. That steady feeling of being in love. Sort-of being seasick minus the boat and the sea. That feeling you get when you're with the one you love. That awesome physiological response for being unbearably happy – butterflies in your stomach, the fast heart beat, palms sweating, all that. Explosive and scattered, feral and wild. Yet it grounds you, keeps you steady, giving you an ironic sense of calm.

Draco abruptly kissed Harry. Draco thought of poetry and how it is like the art lovemaking. The elusive art of word play is the same art as lovemaking; each word designated to a certain metaphorical sense, same as every movement is directed towards a eudemonic goal. They are moved by spontaneous love. Sudden rushes of pleasure riding through neural networks down across their fingertips. Every touch is electric. Living at that moment, fickle yet ripe with untold possibilities, Harry and Draco explore the immersing desire to peer deeper into each other's souls. The language of playful desire speaks to a certain spontaneity directing their inhibitions.

The next thing they knew, they were on the bed. They encase each other, intertwined, quietly hoping for more. The goal of lovemaking is union. This, Draco was sure. He and Harry are united, bound by the act of erotic romance. It's not sensual pleasure he's after but happiness. Sex, for the first time, meant something else for Draco.

With eyes locked tight upon each other, they both explore even more. Skin upon skin. Warm touches and lustful kisses. Each beat of their heart gets more erratic, more sensible than the last. They yearn for each other's flesh, minds ecstatic feeding on the passion coursing in their veins. Even the thinnest hair in their body knew they were gazed upon by desire. The subtle breathing is echoed in the room, all sensuality is riding the air around them.

Existence never felt more real than this, Draco thought. It's a miracle he isn't paralyzed – Harry's weight all over him, encroaching him like wildfire during summer. Even their fingertips radiate sensuality. Investigation of one's body has never been so earnest. He tried to remember it all, ever skin, every imprint, every crevice in Harry's body. Harry does the same with such hunger, and even without saying a word he made sure Draco was wanted in the same way that he is desired.

The best romance novels did not prepare either of them for the next few moments. There is an overflow, a tidal wave of sensuality. Both have forgotten absolutely everything but this moment. Making love has never been so captivating.

"Draco…" Harry moaned.

"Harry… I love you." Draco moaned in response. It occurred to him that he has become Harry's affair. Such a terrible switch of fate, he told himself. But he had to let go. Harry belonged to him no longer. Harry would do the right thing, and he must let go.

"Where have you been? I have been worried sick! I was just about to go the Ministry and report about you!" Rastaban yelled the moment Harry stepped on the door.

"Uhm… There was an errand I needed to attend to. Ministry thing. Sorry I forgot to floo…" Lies. Harry lied.

Rastaban knew. He knew Harry was lying. He is painfully transparent and he immediately knew something was off. He pressed on.

"You were busy. Of course. Have you eaten? I've prepared something."

Harry nodded but didn't say a word. He went straight to their bedroom, tossed his shoes and changed into his pajamas. Rastaban followed him and lolled beside his man. He hugged him and then said, "My exhibit will open tomorrow." Harry couldn't even look at him. "Great. I'll be there. What time?"

"7:00 pm. You can bring all your friends if you want to." Rastaban said before melting into his side of the bed. Rastaban is a sculpture, which is to say that he loved watching people. This is how he met Harry.

While doing his weekly musings at a muggle park, a sort of artistic voyeurism, he noticed Harry sitting alone, fiddling his wand. He just moved in to London from his native land, Greece and he didn't know better if English Wizards are allowed to just fiddle their wand amongst muggles. He approached Harry and introduced himself, right after telling him to hide his wand. What a perfect face Harry had. And those eyes, piercing silently. All the while he thought that imperfection is the human condition. But Harry, so flawless and ephemeral. He wanted to capture his beauty, bottle it up, and keep it to himself. But something was missing, something alive, something salient to human beings. Harry seems broken, disjoint, and apathetic. It made Rastaban particularly curious. How can something so beautiful be so lonely?

Aren't the beautiful suspended from loneliness? The beautiful should be idyllic; no misery can touch the beautiful, it is the rule of the gods. At that moment, Rastaban decided that he as found his muse. Every artist should have one, right? A muse, the epitome of beauty, the accolades of Apollo, the entertainer of the Olympians.

"Can I?" Harry asked vacuously.

"Of course. 7 pm, sharp. Don't be late. It is important for me for you to be there." Rastaban reminded Harry. There wasn't much to talk about as Harry is floating somewhere else. He'd seen this side of him before. Harry is obviously guilty over something. Could it be? Did he meet this Draco? This Draco that Harry speaks of in his recent dreams, could he be the reason for Harry's guilt?


	8. Chapter 8: Misattribution

08

**Misattribution**

Rastaban didn't really love Harry the first time they met, but eventually grew very fond of him. He started to develop deep seated feelings for the wizard and eventually learned to love him. He wasn't sure at first why it is a big deal to the British wizarding population who he was until he found out that Harry is apparently their hero, saving the world from a dark wizard called Voldemort.

That made him fall deeper. Not only he is beautiful he is also a hero. Like the Greek heroes he knows too well – Hercules, Achilles, Aenas, and Odysseus. For Rastaban, Harry is an inspiration, a true muse straight out of a Greek epic. He named his exhibit "Musings on Love". Sculptures and installments portraying the wonderful things love has done for him. Harry served as Rastaban's aesthetic inspiration, his creative force, and drive for creation.

With Harry around Rastaban felt like a god – able to attribute, create, and shape. He couldn't believe he would lose Harry, and worse to a nightmare made alive! He leaned to smell Harry before leaving the bed. Whale-musk, marzipan, the smell of rich-boy shampoo; not at all Harry's smell. Harry always smelled like the sea, the smell of air after morning rain, the smell of burnt sunshine. Smelling Harry, Rastaban wept.

The room was quiet, yet he can hear his pain echo and creep out of him, painfully singing and dancing to the tune of his immanent loss. He felt a quiet disaster building, and he hated it. Is this his fate? Is this was the gods had in store for him? If so, he would fight this fate in store for him. He would fight to keep Harry.

* * *

><p>Feelings only dwell in memories, moves in memories, are formed in memories. There is a saying that we must not forget our past, but whoever said it forgot another important clause – we must not let the past yoke around our necks.<p>

"Do not let it drag you down." Harry reminded himself. It was one night – one night of perfection. Harry once read that the unconscious is oblivious to ethics, it can't distinguish between right and wrong and therefore everything is pardoned in advance. He used this to justify last night's rendezvous. Although he has wronged Rastaban, he knew that it was not what he consciously wanted. He made himself believe that he was pardoned.

Would he confess to Rastaban? He would hurt, he knew that. And he couldn't hurt him, he owes him that much. After all, Rastaban saved him from his misery. What does it mean to be saved anyway? To be saved meant being seen again, being forgiven for letting oneself get hurt. Isn't that exactly what Rastaban did to him; save him?

Harry knew he had to lie. Keep a secret. But he felt his conscience biting him. He loves Rastaban, but not the same as he loves Draco. He felt disgusted with himself. If for anyone, he should know about betrayal. From his younger days he felt abandoned, an orphan child neglected and unloved by his so-called family. There was nothing worse for him than betrayal – it meant breaking promises and wandering into the unknown like leaving yourself to be fed by greedy vultures. Betrayal meant breaking of a unified soul. He wished not to betray Rastaban's trust.

One cannot win against memories. They are untouched but they linger, deep down into his soul, in every fiber of his being.

If only Harry was brave enough to forget.

* * *

><p>"Mr. Malfoy, someone left this for you." The hotel officer held out a ticket to Draco. He looked at the ticket.<p>

_Musings on Love:_

_Featuring an Exhibit by Rastaban Birch_

_Opening Ceremony. 7:00 pm, Hall of Statues, Accolade Museum, London._

"Who left this?" Draco asked the desk officer. "I'm afraid an owl delivered it, sir." Answered the officer.

An owl. Draco scrutinized the ticket before putting it in his pocket. He reckoned Harry wanted him there. But why? He couldn't care less what reason Harry had. He had nothing better to do anyway.

Draco arrived in Accolade Museum at exactly 7:00 pm and went straight to the hall of statues. Wizarding sculpture is a much more complex form of art than wizarding painting, not only it requires a high level of magical skills in charms and transfiguration, it also necessitates a sophisticated level of aesthetic judgment, something that is rare nowadays in the wizarding world. Draco was in awe when he saw the statues and installments – the white marble and lime statues are reminiscent to the Greco-Roman tradition of refinement and subtlety. Each statue moves with such precision after a few minutes or so, allowing the viewers to see each angle and curve that was imposed on it. He saw this familiar-looking white marble statue in the middle of the room and marveled at its perfection. It is as if he's seen this statue too many times.

"Beautiful, isn't he?" He heard someone say from his back. Draco looked behind him and saw Rastaban standing there, a fake smile plastered on his face.

"It is. Your work is beautiful. Although this one seems familiar."

"Of course it is. It's him. Harry. He's the muse of that statue… of this whole exhibit, actually. I'm glad you could come. Did you receive the ticket I sent you?" Rastaban asked, the fake smile disappeared from his bright face.

_It was him._Draco thought to himself. But why would Rastaban willingly invite him to his exhibit? Does he know what happened last night? Did Harry tell him? Where is Harry anyway? Slowly, he was debating internally whether he should keep on conversing to the sculptor.

But before he could finish internalizing, Rastaban spoke again. "He won't leave me, you know."

"Excuse me?" Draco asked. His body tensed. _So this is what he wants._

"I said, Harry won't leave me. What you two had or have now is just that… it may mean something to you or Harry but he'll always go back to me. He's a good man and will always do the right thing. And I trust him. I know he won't hurt him."

"He loves me. Don't you know that? Why don't you just leave him?"

Rastaban's nose flared at what Draco said. "You mean, like what you did to him?"

Did Rastaban know what had happened before? "How did you _know _that? Anyway, I'm here now. Thank you for taking care of him, now you can free yourself from him."

"How dare you!" Rastaban spatted. He drew his wand from his robe and pointed it at Draco. He was about to cast a curse on Draco but lowered his wand when he realized that they're in a public space.

"What's the problem? Afraid of a little duel? Hmm?" Draco teased.

Rastaban took a deep breath and relaxed himself. "It doesn't do much. Bickering and public rawls. Surely, a pure-blood like you would know? Also, it doesn't take a genius to figure out that you left him. He would scream your name at night and in the morning remember nothing. Obliviate, I reckon."

Draco started walking towards one corner of the room, Rastaban followed him. "I love Harry. Maybe I wasn't very good to him before, but now I'm willing to love him in the way he deserves to be loved. Surely you won't take that away from him? Harry would be happy with me. You know that, and he knows that. But you also know that he won't do anything that goes against his virtues. You must let him go. For his sake, you must." Draco said.

"Harry decides that, not you nor me." Rastaban said with such disdain.


	9. Chapter 9: Infidelity

Finally! I am free from all my commitments. This story will now be updated every two days. :) Thank you! And I would like to hear what you think of the story so far.

09

**Infidelity**

_Damn it! _Harry thought to himself. He never seems to make it on time. He arrived at Accolade museum 40 minutes late and was panting when he finally reached the Hall of Statues. He immediately went looking for Rastaban and was taken aback when he saw him talking, or was it confronting, Draco at the corner. He knew that he had to do something. Draco is not exactly pacified and does not like it when he is confronted. A provoked Draco Malfoy is not a good sight. Not only that, he was also concerned about Rastaban knowing, or rather not knowing what happened between him and Draco.

He marched on towards the two men. Draco's wand already pointed at Rastaban's chest.

"What the hell!" Harry said. He yanked Draco's wrist and pushed him away. He stood in between Rastaban and Draco. "What are you doing here? And why is your wand pointed at him?" He seethed.

"This man is stupid enough to cross me, Harry."

"Well, obviously you're wrong. Rastaban won't even hurt a fly. I doubt that he did something to provoke you." He wrapped his arm around Rastaban's waist, assuming a possessive and protective stance. He eyed Draco from toe to head and met his eyes, as if pleading him to stop whatever he is doing.

"Is this your choice, Harry?" Draco asked. Harry closed his eyes and nodded. Rastaban still tangled on Harry, secretly cheering victoriously.

Draco stepped backward and tried to hold back the tears that are about to leak from him. Harry had made his choice. "Very well. I know a lost cause when I see one. Have a good life, Potter." He walked away, never even bothering to look back.

Harry and Rastaban stood silently as they watched Draco walk away. Feelings of guilt and regret bubbled from within Harry. Did he just let go of Draco permanently? He didn't want to let go of Draco, he loves him. And he also loves Rastaban. He was confused, hurt, and angry at the same time.

"Harry." Rastaban whispered. "It is done. I know what you did, and yes, I forgive you. Let's go home." He kissed Harry on the cheek, took his hand and pulled him away.

"I… I'm sorry." Harry replied. "I know. We'll wok it out. Let's go home."

* * *

><p>Harry couldn't bring himself to talk. He was caught red-handed but Rastaban seemed unfazed by all of this. Why was he so calm? So easy on this? Didn't he just commit infidelity?<p>

Infidelity. That abominable sin, the betrayal of one's belief. Infidelity does not consist of loyalty or disloyalty. It is more than that. What is betrayed in infidelity is the belief that one is enough. Infidelity is not a sin of love, but a sin of greed. One resorts to infidelity because there is something lacking, something missing that needs fulfilling. Nothing is so fatal in any relationship than greed.

Yes. Harry was greedy. He wanted them both. He wanted Rastaban because he owed him that much. He was his security blanket, he was constant, he was there when he needed someone to be there. And there's Draco. Unlike Rastaban he was fleeting, moving, and slippery. Yet he desired him so much. With him, Harry feels alive, like life has only just begun.

But Harry had made his choice. Rastaban. He was at the receiving end of infidelity once and he knew how much it hurt. This desire he have for Draco must be terminated. He does not want to sell himself short. He must do the right thing; that is absolute.

"Harry. Why did you do it?" Rastaban spoke, stopping Harry from his mental musings.

"I… I don't know. I was weak. And I loved him and he was finally there after all these years and he… Well, he came back. For me. I couldn't say no to him." Harry rambled.

Rastaban took a deep breath and sat down at the nearest couch. "That's just it? Just a lustful reunion then?"

Harry didn't answer. Silence itself is a lie.

"Very well then. I forgive you. And I still trust you." He stood up and hugged Harry so tight is almost left the other man breathless. "I trust you. I really do. We'll get through this and work this out, ok?"

* * *

><p><em>We'll work this out. <em>They must, or else he'll lose Harry. If going through all this pain and doubt is what is needed to keep Harry, then that is what Rastaban must endure. Like his Greek heroes, he must overcome anything desolate to keep his price.

Even if he must lie to himself to keep his price. After all, a lie is just a lie. He must, to keep his end, must lie to himself f he does not want to lose everything.

Infidelity, he thought, is very Greek. Didn't all the great gods and goddesses betray the trust of their parents, the Titans, to control Olympus? Zeus himself was never really faithful to Hera. Her knew that, of course, and devised many ways to get rid of the fruits of Zeus' infidelity and this kept Zeus tied to him. Did Hera also lie to herself in the same way that he is lying to himself? Is lying to oneself another form of infidelity, or does it just add fire to the already burning desire of the other to be infidel?

* * *

><p>They tried to make the next morning as normal as possible. Well, at least Rastaban tried. They were eating breakfast like they always do. Harry, as usual, reading the Daily Prophet with such disdain painted on his face. Rastaban wondered why Harry kept on reading the paper even if he hated it so much.<p>

"I have news." Rastaban said and Harry put down the paper.

"Is it good news?" Harry prompted.

"Of course. You see yesterday, a curator decided to tour my sculptures to museums all around Europe."

"Really? That's great!" Harry said, beaming with pride. He went over to Rastaban and pecked gently on his forehead. "We must celebrate."

"There is one more thing." Harry gawked at him. "I would be going, too. Just for a few months. He said that he wanted to also introduce me, the artist. You know, maybe get patrons to buy my stuff. Also, it is to get my name out there."

"I… I thought we'll work this out?" Harry asked.

"We will. We are. But this is my dream – always has and always will be. This might be my only chance. And… and I might need the time away. To… heal, forget." Rastaban explained. Harry gulped.

"I trust you." Rastaban abruptly added. "And I want you to take this time to sort everything out."

"You… you trust me that much?" Harry asked. "Of course. I love you and I know that you will always do the right thing."

_The right thing_


	10. Chapter 10: Morality Play

10

**Morality Play**

It was all Rastaban's fault. Harry would have chosen him if it weren't for him. Obviously, Harry would do the seemingly right thing, the more convenient thing by sticking to his ideals even if it does not make him happy. Morality is such an onerous concept, Draco thought to himself. It is never clearly this or that, yet people treat it like it is the truth. Sure, morality should have at least an imbedded consistency to it, but is never to be categorized as _true _or _false. _It is neither true nor false, but rather, a question of convenience. It is easy to hide oneself in the guise of moral conduct; by doing the "right" thing you make yourself believe that you are better than others, more ethical, more just, and more honorable. Thus putting your self in a place of moral ascendancy.

All of morality is self-serving, the goal of doing the so-called right thing is secure one's place in the social realm. The more right you are, the better person you become. He resented the idea that morality is about doing what is right according to social norms – morality is about doing what makes one happy. Happiness should be the goal of morality, not factuality. He lived his life knowing that as long as you are happy, you are doing what is moral, even at the expense of other people's happiness.

Draco was so hurt. Harry did not choose him and that made him question himself. He felt like he wasn't good enough for Harry. So many emotions are swelling from within, so many questions keep popping inside his head. One more minute and he is sure to have a breakdown. But Malfoys do not have breakdowns. A Malfoy is resilient, tenacious, and proud. He is to preserve himself at all costs and strive to protect his appearance. But this Malfoy has nothing left that matters – he was alone and unloved. And for the first time in his existence, he questioned his moral standards. After much mulling, he pulled out a parchment and a quill and started writing. He called for his butler and ordered him to send the letter to Harry via owl.

* * *

><p>Harry was awoken by the sound of the tapping of an owl on his window. He looked at the clock atop his bedside table. 6:30 am. What could be so urgent that a person owled him at 6:30 in the morning. He dragged himself off the bed and retrieved the letter tied to the owl's leg, patted it, and opened the letter. His eyes went wide and panicked. He tried reaching out for Rastaban but he already left earlier. He firecalled Hermione and Ron.<p>

"Mate, what happened?" Ron said as he was emerging from the fireplace, a haphazard and unsettled Hermione behind him.

"This." Harry said and he dropped the letter. Hermione grabbed it and read. She went pale. "Oh dear! Harry! Do you think he will really do it?" her head was shaking and she was obviously trembling. Harry just gave her an I-am-not-sure-either look.

"Do what? Give me that bloody letter." Ron said and snatched the letter from Hermione.

_Dear Harry,_

_I love you. I've always loved you. There is no forgiveness for what I've done. I do hope that in time you shall heal, and maybe I shall be forgiven._

_Don't forget me. Remember me, always, in your heart even not as your lover but as your friend._

_This is my final goodbye. I reckon over there, life may be better._

_With much love, Draco_

"Has he gone mental! Is he really, going to… you know… kill himself?" Ron asked. Harry just stood there, still fazed by the situation. "Harry, you better go to him now."

"What?" Harry asked.

"I mean. He's Draco and all. He's a right bastard for leaving you then. But no one should die like this. Harry, you should go to him and put a stop to his madness."

Harry just stood there, looking at the floor, his hands clutched and his body shaking.

"I completely agree." Hermione said. Harry and Ron simultaneously looked at her. "Ron's right. He may be Draco, but you loved him nevertheless. You go to him now and tell us later why on earth it had to come to this." She said while pushing Harry out of the door. "Harry, you're the only that can save him now. I just hope we're not too late."

* * *

><p>Harry apparated in front of the hotel where Draco was staying. He was still wearing his pajamas, not giving a care at how chilly it was. He ran towards the reception area and demanded for an access at Draco's suite. "He needs me! Look he sent me a letter and I'm afraid that if I don't go there now it might be too late!" He shouted.<p>

"But sir… I just can't let you in his room…" the receptionist said.

"This is stupid! I'm going there anyway." Harry bellowed. He went up to the topmost suite, sweaty and panting He swung opened the door and saw Draco lying on the floor, surrounded by empty bottles of different alcoholic beverages, his wand lying near his seemingly wanton body.

"No! No!" Harry cried out and went immediately to Draco. "Draco! Draco wake-up!" He shook Draco's body over and over again. He was now flustered in tears and crying out loud. "I'm too late. Draco I'm sorry. I choose you. I love you. Please don't go like this."

At that moment, Draco opened his eyes. "Stop shaking me, you idiot. And stop shouting. My head's all topsy-turvy. And goodness, is this snot?" He said as he was examining the liquid on his cheek. He pushed away from Harry's embrace and gave him a questioning look.

"What are you doing here?" He asked.

Harry looked like he just saw the fright of his life. He smiled and laughed and hugged Draco. "You're alive! You're alive! I though I lost you forever."

"I am alive, obviously. What made you say that?"

"The letter… this morning… I thought you were going to kill yourself."

"Dear me. I sent that letter to inform you that I'm going back to America. And I'm not daft, I wouldn't kill myself over a rejection." Draco huffed.

"Draco. About that time…"

"Just leave. Won't your boyfriend be looking for you now."

"He's not here."

"Oh."

"He's touring." Harry crept in closer at Draco and rest the blond's head on his shoulder. "Draco. I… I…" he cupped Draco's chin and pulled him in for a kiss. "I choose you."


	11. Chapter 11: Suppressed Feeling

**A/N: **In my opinion**, **this might be the best chapter in this whole story. Also, I am indebted to _Aeschylus, _a Greek playwright, for the poem found on the last part of the chapter. It from his work of tragedy _Prometheus Bound, _part of the _Oresteia Trilogy._

11

**Suppressed Feelings**

Ignorance is not bliss – it is hell. They say that what one doesn't know won't kill them, well, they're lying. Rastaban would rather die knowing what killed him; at least he would have had closure.

Harry and Draco's affair went on for weeks and months and continued until Rastaban was back in London. Harry would always find an excuse – a field work, a late night meeting, strategy planning with other aurors, etc. And always, he would believe them. He wished he knew the truth – where he was, what he and Draco were doing. Would he go home tonight? Would he kiss him? Would he whisper that he loves him like before? Indeed, one of the worst feelings in this world is to doubt someone whom you thought was unquestionable.

* * *

><p>The first betrayal is irreparable. It calls forth a chain reaction of further betrayals, each of which takes one farther and farther away from the point of the original betrayal. A caress turns into a touch, a touch to an embrace, an embrace to kiss, a kiss to copulation. Every action supersedes its precedent. That is both the beauty and tragedy of betrayals – for one it takes you to higher places, but there is no turning back. It is like an intoxication that propels one to do so much more. Betrayals are addictions that seep into one's very core.<p>

The suddenly the intoxication gave way to anguish. The road had to end somewhere! Sooner or later Harry would have to put an end to his betrayals. Sooner or later he would have to stop himself before he turns into a schizophrenic.

_I am having an affair. _Harry thought to himself. He needs to end this for the sake of his sanity, and the feelings of both Draco and Rastaban. Right, he must do the right and honorable thing because that is who he should be.

Harry went home earlier than usual to make sure he is there before Rastaban. He waited patiently on the kitchen, clutching the latest edition of the Daily Prophet, reluctantly reading it. He reckons he enjoyed this silence. Silence, after all, has one advantage – it drowns out words. It placates the need for coherence, formulations and amendments. It is neither precise nor chaotic. It is vague and unbounded; a pleasant, overpowering sensation that nullifies the involvement of futile and vain words. He prayed to the cosmos to help him find the _right _words to say to Rastaban.

"You're home early." Rastaban said in a matter-of-factly tone. Harry was so enamored in his brooding that he didn't even notice Rastaban enter the kitchen.

_I should deal with this fast and precise._

"I need to talk to you."

"No."

"What?"

"I know what you're trying to do. Not today. Not now."

Rastaban had the overwhelming desire to tell him, like the most banal of men, _"don't let me go, hold me tight, make me your plaything." _But they were words he could not say. The only things he said when he finally opened his mouth was "Why him?"

"Excuse me?" Harry asked again.

"I need to know, why him? Why not me? Fuck. I know you're leaving me. But I need to know why the hell him? He hurt you didn't he? He messed you up so bad, but why do you choose him over me? Is he better in bed than I am? Does he scream your name so loud when he comes? Does he ride you well? Ha? Tell me! If you're going to crush my heart you might as well be honest with me you cheating, two-faced, bastard!" Rastaban blurted out with so much bitterness and disdain.

Harry was taken aback and said, "We don't have to do this. Not this way."

"Just answer the damn question."

"There is nothing to answer."

"Fuck you!"

"Please."

Rastaban drew out his wand and blasted a portrait of Harry and Sirius hanging nearby. Harry, at this moment, lost his temper. That was the only thing he had of Sirius.

"What the hell! Yes! Yes! We do everything that people have sex do! There, happy?" He shouted.

"Do you enjoy sucking him off!"

"Hell yes!"

"Do you love his pretty mouth! Ha? I bet you get off just thinking about it, don't you?"

"I love it! I get off on it every single time!"

"Is he sweet to you!"

"So very much that I want him more than I can want you!"

"Thank you! Thank you for your honesty. Now get away from me and die you toxic slag!"

* * *

><p>Rastaban marched from the kitchen and went to their bedroom, packing his possessions haphazardly. Harry just stood in the kitchen, confused and angry at what just happened. He never meant to hurt Rastaban. He never planned his confession to be like this. He loved the man and you don't hurt people you love. He didn't wish to lose his temper at this moment but he did.<p>

This is madness. All of this. What just conspired not so long ago is certainly the hype of this twisted love affair. This, of course, is expected when people fall in love. There is always some madness in love, but there is always a reason in madness. And whatever that reason is, he wishes is worth it.

It started to rain. As if the heavens are crying for Rastaban. He peeked at the window and realized how much Harry is like the rain these past few weeks. How cold he was, how gloomy he made him feel. How much tears have he shed because of him? How much damage did Harry bring? He banged his head against the glass. How stupid could he be for still wanting the rain?

This is the end. He must understand that. Understanding is the first step to acceptance, only can acceptance can there be recovery. That has been Harry's mistake. He never accepted Draco leaving him then that is why never recovered. _He never really loved me when you think of it. _He never made the transition of having his heart broken and having it mend. He just had himself believe that it didn't happen; that is the sin of Harry's memory.

Gliding across the hardwood floors, he drifted and swayed to the sound of nothingness. The almond colored curtains made him feel laughable. And then he saw the statuette he made of Atlas. Atlas – the Titan who was condemned to shoulder the weight of earth. The door creaked and it revealed a calm Harry.

"We don't have to end it like this, Rastaban."

"It didn't have to. But it ended like this anyway." He said as he stepped closer to Harry.

Harry hugged him and said. "Thank you. For everything. For being there when I was at my lowest, for loving me. Thank you for sharing with me the marvelous sunset views at the rooftop of our house, for those late night massages and gallons and gallons of ice cream, even though you are lactose intolerant. Thank you for always fetching me back to the real world when I am falling apart into the world of delusions. Thank you for being there for me and for always making me feel secured and validated. Thank you for being the one person I can always trust my heart, hopes and dreams with. Thank you for everything that I did not thought you did to me, but did so, for the things I never thought you'd do for me and for the things which you always do so for me. Thank you for being patient with my shortcomings. I thank you, too, the kind words, the sweet melodies and the silence that you've shared with me. Thank you for letting me hold your heart into the palm my hands."

Rastaban struggled to hold back his tears and hugged Harry tighter. He let go and looked at the statuette of Atlas on the writing table. At last, he said "I'm Atlas." then went on his way.

* * *

><p>This was Atlas' fate:<p>

_To bear on his back forever_

_The cruel strength of the crushing world_

_And the vault of the sky_

_Upon his shoulders the great pillar_

_That holds apart the earth and heaven,_

_A load not easy to be borne_


	12. Chapter 12: Recollection 12

This is the last chapter. I would have wanted it to be longer, but I just do not have enough heart to keep on writing this story. I hope you all enjoyed this work of fiction. Thank you.

Oh, and please review and comment on absolutely anything.

12

**Recollection**

Some things are easier said than done.

When Rastaban left, Harry couldn't help but feel lonely. Memories of the past are often influenced by the manner in which they are recalled. Even the most subtle and insignificant details can bring one back to the vivid memory of the past. Harry spent days recollecting the remnants of his relationship with Rastaban, and always, he felt a pang of guilt inside him.

No one deserves to be deserted in that manner. Granted, he did say his thanks to the man, but is gratitude enough to repay love? Is ever anything equal to the gift of love? To be loved is wonderful, but to love is a nobler act. Harry eyed the statuette that Rastaban left – the only thing he left. It was a statuette of Atlas. Wondering what Rastaban's last words meant, he went in his library to search for who Atlas is or was. Turns out, Atlas was one of the Titans, the earlier deities of Greek Mythology. They were overthrown by the Olympians and were punished by them. Atlas was Prometheus' brother, the giver of the fire of wisdom to the first peoples.

Atlas' punishment was that he is to carry the burden of the world, literally, upon his shoulders. If for any moment he stops carrying it, the world shall crumble. Much worse is the fact that an eagle is to feed on his liver at day. But since he is immortal, the liver re-grows and he heals and the eagle feeds in perpetuity. What a terrible fate it is to be carrying the world. Sometimes, it is easier to just give up. What had been Atlas motivation for continuing with his punishment?

And then it struck him. Rastaban was Atlas in the sense that he knew of Harry's affair all along. Love was Rastaban's burden. He carried it through for as long as he could because it was what kept him alive. Harry was the eagle, constantly feeding on his weaknesses. He comes and goes as he pleases and Rastaban stayed where he was, burdening himself with the weight of the world.

* * *

><p>It has been almost a week.<p>

Draco arrived at Harry's house reluctantly. Earlier, Harry owled him and told of the news that he ended his relationship with Rastaban. He should be jumping up and down, celebrating like a Dionysian fool that he is. But he couldn't just be at peace. There was a secret he had been keeping from Harry – another reason why he came back at London. He planned on telling Harry this sooner but just couldn't find the right time, as if one can plan a right and proper time. There is no right time – the ideal situation to reveal specific information does not exist. Life goes on as it is, without second chances and without a priori intervention. _Seize the moment ._Harry seized his, and so must he. His secret must be revealed.

"Harry, I need to tell you something." But before he could settle himself, Harry threw himself at him and hugged him closely. He broke the hug and saw Harry's eyes drown in insecurity.

"Draco, what is it?" Harry asked with doubt filling every inch of his being.

Draco sat down on the nearest chair and gestured Harry to do the same. He was utterly calm considering that what he will reveal will destroy their relationship.

Initially his purpose was to seek Harry's forgiveness and to explain to Harry why he left. Little did he expect that things will turn out the way they are now. If time and fate were people, they would have been laughing.

Deep inside, he truly knew that whatever he and Harry had or will have is obsolete. He hated himself for hoping and believing and wanting to redeem himself to Harry. Hope is blasted bastard feeling. Hope is the last monster, masking himself as the hero and redeemer. After all, hope was also inside Pandora's Box and it was said that Pandora's Box contained nothing but atrocities. Ah yes, hope is the last monster. He makes you believe that things will get better, that thing will fall into place, well in fact in reality, and he too must be banished. There is no hope, not really, just will. Whatever people willed is to be.

"I'm getting married." He muttered. He looked at Harry, seeking answer from his reactions.

Harry stared at him, all happiness and joy seeping out of him, as if he'd been touched by a Dementor.

"Come again?" He asked, earnestly _hoping _he heard wrong.

"I came back in London because I am betrothed."

Harry stood up, filled with anger and rage he punched the wall so hard his hand bled. But that didn't matter. No pain can compare to what's inside him. If black holes existed, this is what it would have felt – infinite coldness and emptiness. He wanted to cry but he found himself unable to. If only he could tear up just a little, he can finally feel, and his coldness and emptiness would be over. "To whom?" He managed to ask.

"Astoria Greengrass. Remember Daphne, she's her sister. My father made the arrangement before he died. That was his only dying wish, that I get married to a pureblood witch with respectable reputation." Draco calmly explained. He stood up and went to where Harry was standing and tried to pull him in for a kiss, a hug, or anything. But Harry flinched. Draco tried reaching in for Harry's damaged hands. He drew his wand and healed it.

"What do we now?" Harry asked.

"We go as we are. I don't intend to keep the marriage. It's all just political. I need to carry on with the line and…"

"You're gonna fuck her?"

"Out of necessity, yes."

"And me?"

"We'll still be together, Harry. Nothing will change that."

Silence.

"You're wrong. Everything will change. I am not that person, not anymore. Everything will change. You will have a child and you would have to raise him."

"I can divorce Astoria after a few years and we can raise the child."

"Until then, I'm just an affair."

"Well, yes. But you _know _I love you. More than anything."

Another silent moment.

"Would you do anything for me, Draco?"

Draco hesitated at first. He nodded his head anyway.

"Do you trust me?" Harry asked again.

"Harry, why these questions?" Draco asked in genuine curiosity.

"Do you believe in fate?"

"I don't. You know that."

"Well, I do. Believe in fate that is. If we were meant to be together, we shall be. I know that sounds utterly rubbish and cliché but there it is. There are some things bigger than us that compels everything to happen. Fate, serendipity, God, reason, whatever. The world is not willed out of nothing, and so everything is willed out of something. That something I still do not know." Harry explained. He went on. "I love you. I love you so much I am willing to do this, but you must be willing to do this to."

Harry drew his wand and pointed it at Draco's head.

Draco searched deeply and strongly in Harry's green eyes. Those green eyes he so loved about him. He nodded in understanding at what Harry wanted to do.

"Just one thing, Harry. Just one thing." Draco pleaded.

"I will never forget your hair, Draco." Harry said affirmatively. "Just that. And you?"

"Your eyes." Draco said and pointed his wand too at Harry's temples.

"Together now." Harry said.

_Obliviate._

From strangers they were, they are strangers again.

* * *

><p>They met again, years after at King's Cross Station. Draco is with his wife and son. Harry was with the Weasleys. Both families are to send to Hogwarts their children – Scorpius Malfoy and Rose Weasley.<p>

Harry was drawn immediately to the tall blond.

Draco found himself intrigued by the guy staring at him, his green eyes vivid.

Something struck; something familiar and akin to both of them.

And then, they remembered.


End file.
